She's Got To Love Nobody
by HigherThanSoulCanHope
Summary: After she leaves Rachel, Shelby needs a drink. Shelby/Jesse friendship though, I suppose you could read a little more into it Drunk!Shelby, Hurt/Comfort
1. The tigers come at night

If things are bad, Shelby doesn't cry. She plans elaborate routines for Vocal Adrenaline, she creates new costumes while doing vocal warm ups until her heart stops hurting and she falls asleep, her mind mercifully blank.

When she leaves Rachel at the piano, (brown eyes so like her own)! her anguish burns, but she can't even remember the lyrics to "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina." She stands in the parking lot, a lone spotlight (streetlight, she reminds herself), highlighting her dark brown curls. Shelby tries, but her mind is swimming with images of Rachel- wailing as a baby, one chubby arm outstretched, walking dreamlike to stage and announcing who she was, and just now, the defeated look on her face as Shelby left her.

Again.

There are no vocal runs in the world that could heal this kind of hurt, she doesn't have the mental capacity to plan any numbers, and her sewing machine is at home.

Shelby needs a drink. She is not a woman who drinks a lot- because she is a woman who likes to be under control, and drinking is the fastest way she loses that control.

Today, Shelby doesn't care, and tosses her long hair over her shoulder and fumbles for her keys, gunning the ignition once she finds them.

She stops at the first bar she sees- in Lima, the bars are interchangeable- there are 9-5 guys straight from the job, a few couples, and always a lonely woman nursing a Cosmo, hoping that tonight will be there night that the stars will align and she will be plucked out this sleepy town.

Shelby heads to a table in the back, hidden. She orders a vodka tonic-no ice and gulps it down before the waitress leaves, and morosely orders another. And another. And another.

After her sixth drink, the bar blurs, dim lights mixing together, the patrons becoming indistinguishable.

"_She's not hard like you,"_ Will Schuester's voice rings in her ears. Shelby was too taken aback by his comment to react. Hard? Was she? After a life of disappointments and letdowns, her defenses have been built so well that people don't even recognize that she has feelings, that she hurts. Shelby has become an Impressionist painting. Perfection from afar. Accolades for as long as she can remember, trophies lining her walls, her stars smiling at her from every angle.

But up close, she is blur. A splotch of paint.

A mess.

Loneliness is something she is accustomed to. Her bed has been empty for more nights than she can recall, (she can make out with gay directors all she wants, but she can't turn them). Its the longing she can't handle. Shelby wants Rachel to be hers. She wants to hold Rachel when boys break her heart (and they will), to help her become the star that Shelby never was, to practice singing with her, and love her. Shelby wants to love her more than anything.

Her cell phone lights up, and she can just make out the name _St. James_ before she picks up.

" 'Lo?" Shelby murmurs, then coughs and tries to regain her composure when she realizes how slurred her voice is.

"Shelby?" Jesse's voice sounds like its coming across a great distance. "What happened? Rachel is a mess- something about you and Gaga? Vocal perfection?"

Shelby laughs, and her voice cracks a little bit. "She said that? Almost perfect. She's sharp in some places, flat in others. But she's good, because she's mine. She's good because she's mine Jesse, do you hear me?" The end of her sentence comes out a slurred mess, and Jesse takes a deep breath.

"Where are you? Tell me where you are Shelby."

"I'm in a bar. Barrrr," She says, rolling her "Rs" deep in her throat, laughing at the sound.

"What bar? Can you drive?" He sounds worried, and Shelby feels like shit. No, worse than shit. She feels like a failure.

"No drive. Keys. Confusing." She tries to keep her sentences short, but her brain feels like its short circuiting.

"Shelby." Jesse is speaking firmly, and she tries to concentrate on his voice. "Where are you?"

"Jimmy's." Shelby whispers, focusing on the sign outside, it's lights blinking despondently.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes, okay?" She nods. "Don't leave."

"Mmmmk." Shelby mutters. She hangs up and orders another drink.


	2. Voices soft as thunder

**AN:** Hey guys! Thanks for reviewing! This is my first attempt at Glee fic, and my first attempt at writing fic in a very long time. Never fear! Jesse arrives.

Jesse may seem a bit OOC, but I let him be the nice guy because there has to be a reason why Shelby trusts him so much. Right? Anyway, happy reading, and remember, reviews make unicorns sing.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, she hears a voice arguing with bouncer. "I don't want to drink! I need to pick someone up! Hey! Don't touch me- do you know how expensive this jacket is! There is a woman in there who is way too drunk to drive, and if you don't let me in, she will. Do want _that_ on your conscience? Thank you!"

Jesse strides into the bar, brushing off the lapels of his jacket. His hazel eyes light on Shelby, and she has a sudden moment of clarity and realizes what she must look like.

"Fuck," she mumbles, motioning the waitress over and handing over her credit card. She tips generously and scribbles something that might pass for her name. Jesse stops in front of her, his eyes filled with something that she refuses to identify as pity.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks, steadying the brunette as she attempts to stand.

"Fine. I'm fine, Jesse," Shelby says angrily, (because she's _not_ fine, she lonely and sad, but she will be damned if he sees that) trying to grab her bag. Her movements are slow, and she has to concentrate to make her hands and grasp the strap. She finally succeeds, and turns carefully to Jesse, desperately trying to regain her authority.

Jesse wraps an arm around her and guides her carefully to his car. He opens the door for her, and she slides in gingerly. Shelby leans her head against the window, enjoying the feeling of cool glass against her skin.

"Do you think I'm hard?" she asks, against her will. The words hurt- they feel like they were ripped from her. Shelby is more afraid of his answer, her talented star, god knows she's pushed him more than anyone. She has vivid memories of shouting at him, when she knows he has more to give, but something is keeping him from giving it all.

_"Jesse! For the last time, if you don't project, no one will hear you. How do you expect to be better if you won't listen to me?" _

_ The young man sighed in frustration, shoving a hand through his thick hair. "Jesus Shelby, its eleven o clock at night! Everyone else is gone. Can we just let it go for now? I'm exhausted." _

_ Shelby snorted derisively, straightening up from her post at her desk. "Do you think the producers on Broadway will care if you're tired? If you have a headache? They won't, so I don't. Go again." _

_ "No!" Jesse yelled. He jumped off the stage, and marched up to her desk. "I am tired and hungry and I am going home. I'm so fucking sick of you treating me like this. I want a life! God forbid I do something else once in a while! Life isn't all about the stage! Christ Shelby, do you want me to live here? Like you do? Alone?" _

_ He stopped suddenly, like the words came out unbidden. Shelby looked down and coughed, and gathered her things. _

_ Jesse started towards her. "Shelby, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm tired." _

_ "It's fine," her voice was rougher than usual, but her face was set when she looked up at him. "Go home. Get some rest." _

_ "I'm sorry. Shelby? I'm really sorry," Jesse said again, reaching for her arm. His fingers felt like fire on her bare arm, and she shook him off. _

_ Her voice is firmer this time. "Jess. Go home. I'm fine." She turned and started leave, his "Sorrys" falling on her ears like raindrops. _

"Shelby?" Jesse's voice, kinder now, startles her out of her reverie. "I don't think you're hard. Sure, you can be a bitch sometimes, but I know you do it because you want us to be better. You want _me _to be better."

Shelby sighs, her breath fogging up the window. "I care. I care _so _much." She says softly, sitting up and turning to look at Jesse, his features gently lit by streetlights as they whizzed by.

"You care about her too- that's why you left, isn't it?" Jesse asks, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "So you wouldn't hurt her?"

Shelby pauses; her tongue feels like lead in her mouth, and she knows this sentence matters. "No. I left so I wouldn't get hurt." Her mouth twists sardonically as the words leave her mouth; she sounds like the worst person alive. "I left so I wouldn't get too close to a daughter who doesn't need a mother, and so I wouldn't have to admit that I need her..." she trails off because she feels her breath hitching in her chest (_she will not cry in front of a student, god dammit). _

Jesse glances at Shelby, but kindly says nothing, and she takes a minute to compose herself.

"It's this one on the left, right?" Jesse asks, hitting his blinker and pulling up to her house, dark and empty- as usual.


	3. Tear your hope apart

Shelby nods, searching for her house keys in the depths of her bag. They keep escaping her fingertips; just another thing she can't hold on to. She feels like a little kid as tears well up in her eyes. (For the second time! Get it together Corcoran). "Jesus. What is wrong with me?" She mutters.

Jesse attempts to keep it light, "I'd say vodka," he deadpans, opening his door and gracefully sliding out. Shelby feels her fingertips grasp her keys as Jesse makes his way to her side and opens the door. He offers her his hand, and she takes it, but not before growling, "you tell anyone about this, St. James, and I will kill you myself."

Normally, any words delivered from Shelby in that low, menacing tone would be enough for Jesse to shit his pants and start praying for his life. Now he just looks at her, and there is no getting around it this time- that is pity in his eyes.

Shelby pulls herself out of the car, thankful for Jesse's hand (though she would never admit it). But standing proves to be too much, and she falls forward as one of Jesse's strong arms come around her waist.

"You good?" He asks softly, looking into her dark eyes.

She grunts an affirmative, busy concentrating on keeping her steps measured and even. Shelby resignedly hands her house key over to Jesse; the world has started spinning a little, and she knows she can't manage the lock.

Her house is as it always is, big, spotless, and empty. Jesse flicks on a hall light with his spare hand, and she leads them, stumbling and slow, to her bedroom. Jesse pauses in the doorway, as Shelby heads to her dresser, holding herself up with one hand and rifling through her pajama drawer with the other. She grabs an oversized t-shirt and lets her leather jacket (always the tough one) fall to the floor. When her manicured fingers start fluttering at the bottom of her shirt, Jesse coughs, and Shelby can feel the blush dusting her high cheekbones.

"I'm gonna go get you some water, ok?" Jesse asks; his eyes fixed to one spot on the floor.

"Thanks." Shelby says resolutely, trying to regain some control. (Drunk _and _stripping in front of a student)? She changes as quickly as her uncoordinated limbs will allow, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor. Shelby makes a point to be underneath the covers when Jesse returns. He carefully sets a glass of water on her night-stand, followed by a bottle of ibuprofen and a bottle of vitamin B. She eyes the second bottle warily, and Jesse chuckles a little bit.

"I brought that one. Take two of the B vitamins and two of the Ibuprofen now and you'll thank me tomorrow in rehearsal."

Shelby groans dramatically.

Jesse sits on the edge of her bed, pressing the pills into one hand, and the water in another. "Take them."

Shelby follows his directions, wordlessly swallowing the pills and setting the glass back down.

"How do you know so much about hangover remedies?" She asks suspiciously, eyeing him blearily.

"I have my secrets," Jesse says noncommittally, flashing that trademark Jesse grin. She smiles back, weakly, and Jesse cautiously opens his mouth.

"You're not a bad person, Shelby," he says softly, and she has to avert her eyes because its been so long since someone said something to her in that tone, words rounded with caring. "If you love her, then tell her. You deserve that. You shouldn't have to feel like this. Rachel is just...confused. She's almost as big of a drama queen as you are, you know?" Jesse laughs a little, reaching for her hand.

Her hand feels like ice, and he feels Shelby stiffen as he holds on. "This will be okay. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but it will be."

"What kind of person leaves their daughter-twice?" Shelby asks, her eyes filling with tears for a third time. She is too worn down to care, and rivulets of tears course down her cheeks. (This cannot be happening. She is mortified).

"There isn't a right and wrong way to go about this," Jesse says, trying to contain his shock at seeing his coach cry real, actual tears.

Shelby feels his eyes on her, and rolls away from him with a quiet sob, trying like hell to keep it inside. Jesse keeps talking, low and gentle, and her tears start to flow in earnest. "I don't know where you got the idea that you're this horrible person, Shelby."

"I'm just not the mothering kind," she says her voice cracking as she tries to push the word "mother" out of her mouth. Shelby's sobs overtake her, she can't stop crying and breathes so fast and hard that Jesse is actually worried. He slides closer to her, placing a gentle hand on her back, and rubbing in comforting circles.

"Do you remember that day that Amber fell in rehearsal and almost broke her ankle? You got on stage so fast, and you were so worried. You tried to play it off, saying something about her being an irreplaceable dancer, but there was more to it, and I noticed, even if no one else did. You held her as she cried. You nurtured. Maybe you're not a mom, but you are the mothering kind.

Shelby's sobs don't slow, she keeps crying as though her heart is breaking (because it is) and Jesse doesn't know what to do. "She's going to come back to you, you know that, right? Rachel is almost as driven as you are, and I know she won't just let this go. So wait for her, okay? Give her some time."

"Can you just go?" Shelby asks quietly, her voice breaking again. The second the sentence is out of her mouth, the sobs come again, (because she hasn't cried in years, and it feels like something inside of her is falling) and Jesse looks torn.

He makes a split second decision and kicks his shoes off, laying down beside her and pulling Shelby onto his chest. She fights him a little (a student in her bed is _not_ how she imagined her Wednesday ending) but she's uncoordinated and tired and she can't deny that she needs a little human contact.

Jesse finds his fingers twining in and out of Shelby's smooth, dark hair as her sobs slowly die down. He murmurs quietly, "shhh, you're okay." When her heart stops racing and her breathing slows, Jesse slowly moves his hand out of her hair and slides gracefully out of her bed. Shelby rolls over, clutching at one of her many pillows to replace him.

Jesse turns her lights off, closes her bedroom door, and slips out of her house, making sure the door is locked behind him. He turns the key in his car, and slowly pulls out of the driveway, watching the moonlight filtering on the house in front of him.

His coach has one _hell_ of a poker face.


	4. Dreams to shame

**AN: **Okay, so I had every intention of ending this story in three chapters. But reviews have far too much of a positive affect on me, and damn it, you guys made me write more!

Updates will be coming slower, I want to keep it as close to canon as I can. Plus, I think Jesse egging Rachel will elicit a very interesting reaction from Shelby, and have fun effect on their relationship.

And this might just venture into Jesse/Shelby, because my muses are strange and I kind of love the idea of it.

Finally, I'm sorry this is so short, but I felt like I made you guys wait forever. So enjoy a little but of hung-over Shelby, and we'll see where this takes us, mmkay?

Again, reviews make unicorns sing and puppies poop rainbows.

* * *

Shelby's alarm goes off at 4:30 every morning. She jumps out of bed, and changes into her running clothes, trying to keep to at most seven minutes per mile on her 3 mile run. After a quick shower, coffee and a muffin, she is heading to Carmel, (in her own white Range Rover, because Shelby has never been one to follow the crowd). She spends her prep time before class grading papers for her AP Lit classes or going over set lists and choreography for Vocal Adrenaline.

Not this morning.

Shelby is awake the minute the vamp from _"Don't Rain on My Parade"_ starts up. Usually it makes her smile, the perfect song to begin the day, and she'll warm up her voice to it before her run.

Today, it makes her brain feel like it is melting.

She slams her palm on the stereo, cutting Barbara off mid syllable. Her head aches, and her mouth feels like its wearing a sweater and the only thought she has is water. Shelby sits up slowly, and the world shifts like she's in some fucked up Tilt-A-Whirl. Sharp, vivid memories coming back as she looks around her bedroom, things just out of place.

Her clothes in a pile on the floor.

"_I'm gonna get you some water-okay?" _

The glass of water by her bedside table.

"_I don't know where you got the idea that you're this horrible person, Shelby." _

Her sheets and blankets, a tangled mess.

"_Shhhh, you're okay. Shhhh."_

Shelby swears under her breath, and reaches for the glass of water, drinking it in one long gulp. She glances at the time and swears again, sliding out her bed. She doesn't feel as terrible as she assumed she would, yes, things are a little too bright and and her head is throbbing a little too much and her stomach is just a little too queasy, but Shelby is not a woman who gives up. (She'll skip the run though; because even looking at her sneakers makes her stomach do backflips).

After the longest and hottest shower she can stand, she dresses more neatly than usual, choosing her highest heels and most flattering pencil skirt and blouse. Shelby is one of those women who look their best when they feel their worst, fearing that looking bad will open the floodgates to feeling bad. She heads into the kitchen on a mission to settle her stomach, glancing out her kitchen window.

Her driveway is empty.

"_Shelby? I'm coming to get you. Don't leave." _

She swears again, grabbing a handful of crackers from the pantry and refilling her water glass. Leaning against the counter, she slowly eats her sorry excuse for breakfast, scrolling one handedly through cab companies in the Lima area on her Blackberry.

"Hi, I need to be picked up at 17 Ridgewood? Ten minutes? Perfect. Thanks so much." When she hangs up, she notices two text messages, both sent last night, one at 1:20 AM, the other at 2:00 AM. Both are from Jesse.

The first says something about how he's home safe, that he'll see her tomorrow at practice, and that he's already memorized the solo for _Bohemian Rhapsody_.

The second is shorter. "I hope you're okay."

Shelby rereads it, something reminiscent of a smile ghosting over her lips.

Then she deletes both of them, and gets ready for work.


	5. Live the years together

**AN: **Hey guys! Sorry about the wait, after my first few rapid fire updates that must have felt like forever, huh?

I really wanted to see how they were gonna wrap up the season, and see if I could keep this close to canon. And while I genuinely enjoyed the finale (okay, maybe Will could cry a little less? Just a little? -evidence of my Shelby side), this is pretty much gonna be AU. I'm gonna keep as many details from "Journey" as I can, but there is no way the Shelby I've created would be all "I can haz behbeh?" and adopt Drizzle.

This chapter is handling Jesse's absence and awkward reappearance. Next up will be the "Funk" and Shelby's reaction.

And oh man this is so gonna be Jesse/Shelby. Whoops!

As per, thanks for reading, and reviews make puppies poop rainbows and unicorns sing.

* * *

This is what makes Shelby the coach of a nationally ranked Glee Club- her ability to compartmentalize. Anything that is nagging her, can, for the most part, be swept up and neatly packaged away in the corner of her mind. Yes, she has her moments of weakness (last night comes quickly to mind), but when she hands the cab driver a twenty in the bar parking lot, lit gently with early morning light, Shelby has already forgotten about Jesse's texts.

(Not forgotten-not quite. Out of sight, out of mind. _I hope you're okay_).

On her drive to Carmel, Shelby works hard at conquering the hurt of the last few days. Regionals is in one month, and she will not accept her team failing because she was distracted. She knows that by now, the news of her daughter will be all over the school, because Rachel did announce her presence in front of all of her students, and honestly, who could blame them for spreading that particularly juicy piece of gossip about the intensely private Shelby Corcoran?

(Rachel's big, brown wounded eyes are particularly hard to wipe away).

Shelby will not give them the satisfaction of seeing her defeated. Vocal Adrenaline rules that school; with Shelby at its helm they become a war ship hellbent on destruction and greatness.

(She would never dream that they pity her loneliness- not ever)!

Her parking spot is right behind the giant bronze statue, and every day, Shelby reaches up and brushes the Great White's fin with her fingertips. It feels like good luck; like a promise.

She is expecting curious stares, hushed comments, silence upon her entrance to the teachers lounge. Shelby isn't really friends with any of her colleagues, but she makes a decent attempt to be nice, to be friendly. She has enough animosity coming from every surrounding show choir in the nation, why add her own school?

Despite this, her hand pauses on the door handle of the teachers lounge. Shelby takes a deep breath, and pushes the door open.

Ninety seven percent of the time, she is right. About everything.

About who gets to sing solos, what the costumes should look like, how the choreography should feel, and about their non stop winning streak.

Today is no exception.

There isn't a huge commotion, but Shelby watches eyes flit away from hers uncomfortably, notices that the conversation becomes a little quieter. She plasters on a bright smile, and waves hello to Mr. Renter and Mrs. Colfax, her colleagues in the English Department.

(She is so talented at hiding her emotions that its literally hurting her._ Show face_).

After refilling her travel mug and promising she'll go over the book list for next years AP Language students at lunch with Mrs. Colfax, she escapes to her office, planning to put some time in going over papers on _Othello. _

Shelby opens her office door, and regrets giving Jesse a key the moment she sees him sitting behind her desk, his hair outlined by the sun pouring into her well lit office. The door closes almost noiselessly, a small click as the lock slides back into place.

She raises an eyebrow, slowly. "Shouldn't you be at McKinley?"

Jesse smiles ruefully and gets out of her chair, allowing her to get settled. "Senior privileges. No first or second period."

They both start talking at the same time- Jesse's hand on his hip and Shelby's fingers running through her hair.

(Such dramatics, always).

"Look, Jesse, I really don't-"

"Shelby, I just wanted to-"

Today, Shelby is not drunk, she is behind her desk, and she has the power. She keeps talking, and Jesse slowly drops his hand from its perch.

"-want to discuss last night."

She pauses. Thanks is in order, but thanks for what? For driving her? For holding her? For comforting her?

"I'll reimburse you for gas," Shelby says lamely, after the silence has gone on long enough.

Jesse shakes his head and readjusts his messenger bag. "No, don't worry about it. You're not too out of the way. I was on the road anyway, when I picked you up."

He doesn't it say it, but the sentence looms overhead _"I was comforting Rachel, after you abandoned her." _

Shelby reaches into her bag, pulling out a stack of papers. "Are you still pretending to be in New Directions? Or are you coming to rehearsal today?"

Jesse flops into the chair across from her, resting his pointy toed shoe on the corner of her desk. "You want me to ditch them? Her?" His remark is pointed, tone accusatory.

Its blunt, and it hurts, but he has a point. Shelby shrugs noncommittally, refusing to meet his eyes. "You did what I asked you to do. Its done. You belong here, Jess. We're your...team."

(She wants to say family, but understands that might not go over well, given her history).

He cocks his head, looking at her like he knows what she meant to say. "I think I like her."

"Rachel." It isn't a question. Shelby engineered this, kicking herself for asking an almost eighteen year old boy to "befriend" a pretty girl.

(It feels selfish to call Rachel pretty. Like mother like daughter).

"What's she like?" The question surprises both of them, but she wants to know. Needs to know.

"Dramatic. Driven. Talented. Emotional." The adjectives stream from his mouth like gunshots, a slight smile playing over his features.

Shelby doesn't know how to tell him that isn't what she wanted to know. What is she like when she's happy? Does she boss around her Glee club the way she ordered around that piano player? Brad? How are her grades? She aches for knowledge, plain and simple.

(She knows about being thirsty, of course).

Shelby nods, looking thoughtful. "So you're staying with them?" She doesn't quite believe him. No matter how much he might like Rachel, Jesse likes winning more. He knows that there is no chance of McKinley winning at Regionals, though they should be able to beat that god-awful Aural Intensity. Who the _hell _thought up that name?

(That text message. _I've got Bohemian Rhapsody_).

Jesse doesn't respond right away; he looks thoughtfully out the window, gently stroking his chin. Normally Shelby allows him his theatrics, she understands, and he certainly allows her dramatic rages during rehearsal. This morning she is impatient and cranky and fucking _hung-over_ on a Thursday morning. No, today Jesse gets no pity from her.

She leans over and pushes his foot off of her desk, smirking as he falls forward gracelessly. Jesse glares at her, but she just taps her pen impatiently.

"No." His voice is quiet, but even. "I don't belong there. Their story-its all underdogs and second chances. Its heart and passion and feeling. Its quarterback dates social outcast. I'm not right there. I'm not right for her."

He sounds fine, his tone is measured and steady, but Shelby knows him too well for that. "Did Rachel break up with you?" She's kind of annoyed to even have to ask him this question in the first place, _befriend_ was the word she used.

Jesse shakes his head. "Not yet. But she pushed me away last night- she knows I'm not right for her. For that school."

Shelby smiles at him, and tells him, "You know we need you back. No one can do Freddie Mercury like you can." He smiles at this, a little less cockily than usual. "And Jess? I'm sorry. If what I did hurt you-either of you. That wasn't my intention."

Jesse nods, picking up his backpack and standing to leave. "Well, I guess I have some paperwork to fill out, huh?"

"Rehearsal is at 3:30. Don't be late," Shelby warns, turning back to her papers.

"I know, I know," Jesse says, heading way out. He pauses at the door, looking back. Shelby feels his eyes on her and looks up, annoyed.

"_What_ Jess?"

He looks away quickly, guiltily. "Nothing."

She sighs a bit huffily and he hastens to correct himself. "Its just...Rachel. She really looks like you."

The door swings shut before Shelby has time to respond.

(_I hope you're okay)._


	6. Dreams that cannot be

**AN:** Oh hey guys! So I really wanted this to have the "Funk" reaction in it, but as I was writing it, it became clearer and clearer that it wasn't going to fit without feeling awkward and rushed. Plus, I missed my "update on Sunday night" schedule that I made up for myself and blah blah blah. Also, I seem to only be able to update between the hours of 12-3 AM, which is not very productive.

Now I have no idea where this is going to end slash where its going to get juicy. And it will. Ohh, it wil.

But I really liked writing this, business Shelby is so fun.

Happy reading darlings, and remember, reviews make unicorns sing and puppies poop rainbows!

* * *

The school day slowly ticks by. Shelby's students all clearly know about Rachel, and every time she enters her classroom she is met with a sudden silence. It makes her day easier- her students seem wary of her, and though her hang-over is getting better, having a bunch of self important AP kids asking for ways to improve their papers might have driven her over the edge.

Her lunchtime meeting with Mrs. Colfax goes well, though Shelby has to put up a bit of a fight to get Chinua Achebe's _Things Fall Apart_ on the book list, as opposed to making the seniors read _The Scarlet Letter _again.

(Shelby hates the _Scarlet Letter_. Always has, always will).

After her last class of the day, she takes some time in her office to collect herself before rehearsal. Shelby would never admit it, of course, but she's nervous about the Queen number. As talented as her kids are, they rarely want to perform actual show tunes- except for Jesse, of course. She rationalizes that Queen is as dramatic as any musical, and with Jesse on the solo...well..they'll kill it.

(She has some ideas about Nationals. Jesse and Andrea singing "The Next Ten Minutes" from The Last Five Years would be a beautiful duet).

At 3:15, Shelby heads to the auditorium after getting yet another cup of coffee. She likes to be behind her desk when her kids enter, ready for action, implying that they should be too.

Usually, Vocal Adrenaline files in with focused energy. They talk amongst themselves, (whoever spread that rumor that Shelby doesn't let her kids speak in practice to save their voices was totally talking out of their ass. What kind of person do they think she is)? but they know socializing is not their main priority and their energy reflects that. Today they are almost silent, shooting her furtive glances when they think she's not looking. After draining her coffee, she takes a deep breath and starts to speak.

Of course, since its 3:27, Jesse chooses that moment to make his dramatic entrance.

The auditorium doors bang open as he saunters in, casually dropping his bag by a row of seats and hopping on stage with his team mates. They stare at him, mouths agape, then begin laughing, whooping and pelting him with questions.

"Jesse! You came back!" Andrea. She's always been a little it in love with him, Shelby knows this.

"Had enough of _New Directions?_" Sarah asks, purposefully saying it so it sounds like "Nude Erections."

(Shelby has always wanted to ask Will what the hell he was thinking with that name. He teaches _high school _for christsakes).

"Hey! Hows that Berry girl?" Sean asks lewdly, winking at Jesse.

Shelby has heard enough. "Okay! , thank you for the entrance-ever the performer, aren't we?"

Jesse has enough manners to look slightly ashamed, but Shelby pays him no mind.

(She's actively trying not to wring Sean's neck).

"Let's make this quick. I'm not going to insult your intelligence and pretend that you guys _didn't_ hear Rachel Berry announce that she is my biological daughter. However, you would be out of your mind to think that it would be okay to attempt to discuss it with me, or make jokes about it-in my presence or not, I'll find out. This is not coffee talk- I don't want to hear your personal problems, and you don't want to hear mine. In other news, Mr. has decided to join us again, and he will be taking back his solos," she raises her voice to be heard over a few groans of the few who attempted to replace him, "and he will be taking lead for _Bohemian Rhapsody._"

She pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts.

"Tomorrow you guys need to pay a visit to New Directions. We're going to tighten up the choreography on _Another One Bites_ _The Dust _tonight and that crazy cheerleading coach said she'll help you guys get into McKinley tomorrow afternoon."

(Is it her imagination, or are they looking at her with disbelief? Do they really think that because of Rachel, she won't go through their usual pre regionals scare tactics? Please).

Shelby sits down, wishing she had more coffee. "From the top!"

Shelby runs a tough practice. A five minute Red Bull break every two hours, and if practice goes for more than six hours, she'll give them forty minutes to eat. As much as she hates it, today practice goes for seven, even though she just wants to fall into bed. But they can't intimidate New Directions with bad choreography and weak vocals, so they stay.

As her kids file out at the end of the night, exhausted, she barks, "Jesse. Up here." He obliges, running up the steps and sitting on the edge of her desk.

"What did you tell Rachel?" She asks, busying herself with packing up her bag.

Jesse is silent. She looks at him, but he refuses to meet her eyes.

"I'm guessing nothing," Shelby says, leaning back in her chair, massaging her temples.

"What do I tell her? 'Oh hey Rachel, I met you because your mom told me to seduce-"

"_Befriend,_" She interrupts, annoyed.

"-whatever. Befriend you, and now that you guys met, I'm done?'"

"Is that true? Did you transfer there because I told you to?"

He pauses, thinking it over. "Kind of. I mean, I didn't really want to leave you guys, but I do - did- really like her."

"Tell her that." Shelby suggests softly.

"But she still thinks she's in love with me, even though she never was." Jesse says this bitterly. "She's in love with that lumbering Finn Hudson, even though he is _way_ beneath her vocally."

"She'll figure that out. Just tell her the truth." Shelby places a comforting hand on his shoulder, and looks him in the eye. "If you hurt her, I will kick your ass. Clear?" He smiles a little and nods.

Shelby squeezes his shoulder affectionately and heads out of the auditorium, leaving Jesse with a thoughtful look on his handsome features.


End file.
